


The Closer I Get

by corvidae9



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drunken Shenanigans, F/M, M/M, cringing at party members' loud sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-08-24
Updated: 2005-08-24
Packaged: 2018-10-17 14:45:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10596174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corvidae9/pseuds/corvidae9
Summary: Draco is not pleased over his lot in this expedition. (Harry/Draco)





	

**Author's Note:**

> for [](http://tarie.livejournal.com/profile)[tarie](http://tarie.livejournal.com/), who wanted post-HBP H/D based on "The More You Ignore Me, The Closer I Get". :D

There was something really rather satisfying about seeing the savior of the Wizarding world faceplanted at the bar. Then again, it was probably close to what Potter felt catching him bawling in Myrtle's bathroom, so he supposed that it was only fair.

Not of course, that he cared about fair. He was, after all, the Malfoy now shunned and forced to help the golden trio and standing in the corner of a seedy pub watching Potter self-destruct while the Weasel and the Mudblood were off having no doubt a mind-blowing end-of-the-world shag upstairs. No part of _that_ was fair.

Or tasteful, come to think of it. Which he rather wouldn't thank you. The very idea was... well. Whatever it was, it turned his stomach.

He watched as Potter managed to lift his head and ask for another, and this was Malfoy's cue to step in. Stepping out of his corner, he shook his head at the bartender and leaned over Potter with a sneer. "Potter. Time to go upstairs and vomit all this wretched swill right up. Come on. Just because I've been volunteered to be your nursemaid does not mean that I enjoy your company. Up."

Potter turned his bleary gaze to the pointy, familiar, ferrety face and was oddly comforted. Reaching up, he touched the faint scar on Malfoy's temple; it was glamoured over, but Potter knew where to find it. "Sorry. Sorry 'bout that. Still hate you. Din't mean to try an' kill you though. Sorry."

Jaw set, Malfoy slapped his hand away. "Yes. I've forgiven it rather magnanimously on account of the fact that I must restrain from killing you, however, my patience is wearing thin. Move."

Grinning stupidly, Potter tried to wrap his mouth around the shiniest of Malfoy's words, "magna... mmmg... mangam..." before collapsing back onto his forearms with drunken giggles. "I know what tha' means. Can' say it, but I know."

Malfoy narrowed his eyes with disgust. "Potter. Now. Your little... escapade... is over." Grabbing Potter's elbow, he tugged, murmuring a _Mobilicorpus_ and began pulling him easily to the foot of the stairs.

Potter tried to form some sort of protest, but instead, became fascinated by the loopy, floaty feeling of being dragged along behind Malfoy. "Whee!"

There were some days where it was all Malfoy could do to keep from slapping him hard. Most of those days, he wasn't even drunk. Actually, in all fairness, this was the first time in months that Potter had tried to drown his sorrows.

But then, Malfoy had already considered his stance on fair and otherwise tonight; further effort expended on such was thoroughly wasted. With a heavy sigh, he frowned and wrapped his arm around Potter's waist and walked him up the stairs. "Don't vomit until you find the toilet, Potter. That's an order."

Potter managed a sloppy salute and slumped against Malfoy's shoulder with what he hoped was a snore, rather than a heave. Gritting his teeth against the urge to dump him in the hallway, Malfoy dragged him into his room and sat him on the edge of the bed, _Accio_ ing the wastebasket over to set between Potter's knees. Slapping him lightly on the cheek, he snarled, "Potter. Potter! Wake up. One more thing."

There were times like these where he stood with a drunken savior in a ratty pub, with the wall between this room and the next practically alive with shaking and groaning and --good fucking Salazar, had they been too poor to learn Silencing charms?-- thought to himself, _this is what I've been relegated to. Thank you ever so much, father_.

This thought never helped. But it was always comforting to be able to blame someone else.

One last _Accio_ brought Malfoy a bottle of Sobering Solution. He tipped Potter's head back and poured it down his throat with no warning, Potter's loose, drunk muscles offering no protest. Tossing aside the empty bottle, Malfoy took Potter's face in both hands and looked him in the eye, gratified to see the red beginning to recede a bit. "That ought to do it."

Potter offered a smile, still stupid and rather smelly as he opened his mouth to speak. "Thank you. 'Sgood. 'Mfine."

"Ugh," was all Malfoy could say, waving the stale firewhiskey breath away with one hand and shoving him back onto the bed with the other. "Just. Go to sleep." Straightening to regard Potter's pathetic form, Malfoy sighed again before bending to pull his shoes off and dump his feet onto the bed along with the rest of him. In for a Sickle, in for a Galleon; besides, there was no reason to tell anyone else about this small consideration. Ever.

Another disgusted look at the half-asleep mess was all Malfoy could spare before he turned on his heel to find his own bed.

"Draco. Sorry."

He froze in place, hands already pulling his shirt from the waistband of his trousers, more tired than he realized if he'd heard what he thought he'd heard. "Potter, what?"

"Draco. Come to bed. Potion's kicking in. Was a right bastard. Sorry."

Malfoy hung his head, lips pursed, ready to loose a number of choice cutting phrases upon young Potter, and yet by the time he'd opened his mouth to speak, he was already facing him and that stupid bloody unguarded Gryffindor expression. "No. You're not. Though you will be sorry in the morning, Sobering Solution or not."

Potter laughed with some difficulty, shifting to bury his face in the pillow. "Fuck."

"Indeed." Malfoy paused. Perplexed. This had become too easy a routine. Insult Potter. Laugh at Potter's weak comebacks. Be forced to sit too close and talk, if there was to be discussion of topics that involved not swallowing each other's faces, unlike other certain persons in their party. More often than not, punctuate this discussion with more insults. Share a room with Potter or... well. There was another thought that was too hideous to consider.

When he'd begun sharing Potter's bed was anyone's guess.

All right, that was a lie. It had been the night after they found that last horcrux --was it number five they were on now? sod it; he'd likely be dead before the next one-- and no one detected the hallucinatory wards around it until Potter destroyed it, babbling about his parents being inferi. Now _that_ had been an interesting curse to break.

And that night curled in a fetal position in a similar room to this one, above a similar pub, Potter looked small and broken and Malfoy had no choice; it was either curl around him or listen to him snivel all bloody night long.

Malfoy never could stand snivelling.

Frowning, he sat on the edge of Potter's bed. "Swear you won't vomit on me. I won't tolerate it."

Potter guffawed again into the pillow, obviously amused."Swear."

Quirking an eyebrow in pointed disbelief, Malfoy toed his shoes off and settled next to Potter, who immediately snaked an arm around his waist and drew him close. Malfoy wrinkled his nose. "Ugh. Again. Don't breathe on me, either."

Burrowing his head against Malfoy's shoulder, Potter mumbled, "Right. No breathing."

Malfoy smiled despite himself. Reaching up to push the hair back from Potter's forehead, he pressed a kiss to the offending scar before settling back on the pillow. "Shut up and go to sleep, Harry."


End file.
